When we were teenagers, our parents would take us to Maui every four or five months for an extended holiday. In charter school we could get away with bending the attendance requirements more easily than in public school.

     My father, Edward Crowley, was flush with riches from selling his software company, ‘ExQuizit,’ when he was fifty years old to some billionaire in Silicon Valley; my dad transitioning to high-end consulting for another few years. He was a superstar game maker with amazing brain power which was only overshadowed by my mom who worked as an aerospace Engineering Program Director at NASA; both of them retiring before they hit fifty-five. As soon as they retired, they purchased two luxury beachfront condos in West Maui.

       Sally and I were the luckiest two teenagers in Northern California. As twins, although fraternal we looked much alike except she had wavy strawberry red hair and I had bark brown hair, a dullish color. Sally got the blue eyes from my mother and I inherited eyes like my father, so dark brown that they resembled some exotic animal eyes, with light amber flecks dotted around the centers; eyes noticeable to everyone who met me. So much so that I often wore sunglasses so people wouldn’t start up every conversation with “Are you wearing special contact lenses to get that look or is that your natural eye color?” I felt self-conscious and wanted to deflect the focus on me. My sister was the obvious beauty but I got the attention because of my eyes.

          With the two Hawaii condos, Mom and Dad would stay in the spacious 2,000 sq foot one, while my sister and I would enjoy the cozier one next door. The condos were set so close to the sand that we could step out on our lanai and pitch ourselves over the short stone wall and be on the sand. It was a heavenly setting and allowed Sally and I to sneak out at night without my parents even suspecting. We’d be in Lahaina just down the road eager to catch a blues band or dance party in one of the local clubs, our favorite one just opposite the famous Banyan tree by the harbor. Our frequent trips to Maui as teens were during Lahaina’s heyday, years before the tragic fire which destroyed most of the town in August 2023.

               I sit in my parents’ San Francisco home looking at my sister as she stands on the other side of the granite kitchen island and prepares to bake cookies. Bowls filled with sugar, flour and butter all around her as she kneads the dough with a rolling pin on a grand rectangular block of wood. A half dozen plastic cookie cutters are set near the cutting board. A star, a pineapple, a plumeria flower and a few others make up the assortment. I pick up one of the three largest lemons I’ve ever seen thanks to her garden which sit in a bowl close to me.

                I pick up the biggest one and hold it up in the air. As if making an announcement at a competitive event, I say,
 “This one gets first prize. A State Fair record-breaker. The lemon to top all lemons.”

                Sally looks up at me with her baby blues, the last of her red hair peeking out from under a stylish multicolored black, beautiful custom-designed head scarf. She seems to force a grin. She’s not prissy now with her appearance like she used to be when dating some of the best-looking guys I’d ever seen. She wears tan or black loose-fitting clothes now but she still likes to wear color on her head. Her skin has turned a grayish tone.

                The circles under her eyes are darker than they were a month ago when I took her to see ‘The Lion King’ musical in San Francisco. It was three days after her sixth dose of chemo this time around. She wanted to see ‘The Lion King’ specifically to get ideas for creative and colorful head scarf fabrics. I surprised her with front row seats during breakfast the same day as the performance. The experience paid off as now she has at least ten African-inspired scarves to cover her almost bald head.

 “So, Dizzy,” she says, “what shape of cookie would you prefer today? Star fish? Plumeria flower? Pineapple? Wait, how about this Dolphin?”  She holds up the powder blue cookie mold.

              Sally was the only human on Earth that I permitted to address me as ‘Dizzy.’ To everyone else, I was Desiree, whether I was at work or socializing. But since I grew up as ‘Dizzy’ in our family household, Sally still had the a-ok to use the nickname except as we agreed, never in front of other people. She respected my wishes most of the time. But Sally was a sassy girl and woman, and on occasion would slip up and shout out “Hey Dizzy” in a crowded department store or movie theatre, and then make fun of my soured reaction.

“Oops,” she’d claim.  “I totally forgot that you don’t like that,” then flash me her apologetic protruding top lip.
                I look at my sister as she dances around the kitchen, Blondie playing on Alexa in the background. Sally is twirling holding up the dolphin cookie mold in one hand and the starfish in the other.

“Which one strikes your fancy, Dizzy girl?” Both of us are thirty-six years old now, and both of us, unwed. Sally was engaged two years ago until the uterine cancer entered the scene. And then our parents were killed shortly thereafter in a small plane crash off their treasured island of Maui.  Dad’s Cessna 172 Skyhawk, which he called ‘Kitty,’ went down in the Pacific Ocean close to a beach in Hana which was situated at the far Eastern end of Maui. He flew his plane at least two or three times a week, and on that fateful day had taken Mom with him, something he rarely did since she frequently got migraines when flying.

                  The shocking tragedy occurred on one of their trips to the island where they’d typically spend more than half the year. Dad possessed a pilot’s license which he had for over fifteen years when the fatal accident occurred.

                  We never really found out the exact cause of the crash. Operator error or mechanical failure? The results of the NTSB investigation were fuzzy at best.

                   A part of me thought maybe Dad, who was almost 77 years old and my mom who was a year older, had actually pre-planned their demise. Why would they have done such a thing? I struggled thinking about it.

                   But I was good at puzzles and this one I felt I had figured out. For one thing, they had done everything there was to do in life; toured the world several times over, owned a beautiful spacious house in San Francisco and two luxury condos in Maui, donated and led charity events for endangered animals throughout their retirement and were committed to their marriage until their dying day; including renewing their vows in a formal ceremony.

                   They knew that Sally had uterine cancer which was diagnosed a year before Sally’s planned wedding. It crushed them to see their daughter in constant pain and going through half a dozen surgeries as the cancer spread from her uterus to her stomach. But Sally went into remission for a few months until the cancer came back with a vengeance. As soon as she found out she broke it off with Doug, her fiancée, a successful high-tech venture capitalist, a few weeks before Mom and Dad were killed. She said she had fallen out of love with Doug but I knew the resurgence of the cancer played a key role in her decision.  

                    As her twin, I felt what she felt. I knew she was secretly broken-hearted and didn’t want Doug to be tied to her long-term health issues. He didn’t seem shattered enough to beg her to re-consider. The wedding was cancelled and she gave back the two-carat engagement ring.

                     Mom and Dad were worried sick about Sally; both of them, eyes red with grief every time I saw them, fighting tears in front of their sick daughter. Away from my sister, I sat in their living room one afternoon and tried to comfort them which proved useless.

“You guys doing okay?” I asked. “What can I do to help you through this? It’s tough on you, I know.”

“She’ll be fine,” Mom said. “We just know it.”

“Sally’s strong as an ox,” Dad added. “You don’t need to worry about us.”

They didn’t want to admit the degree of their concern but it was written on their faces. I suspected that they thought that if they talked about it too much, it might be a jinx to Sally getting healthy again. And I knew that Mom in particular, although brilliant, was superstitious.

So, in family gatherings they both smiled, and talked about everything under the sun, avoiding Sally’s cancer. Yet Mom accompanied Sally routinely to her doctor’s appointments and Dad to all of her chemo sessions. He’d hold her hand as he sat for hours in a side chair while she received the chemo. He’d talked to her about trips he’d like Sally to go on with them to places like China, Africa, Rio de Janeiro and maybe even Lithuania. Sally told me about their chemo conversations and how his bad jokes made her smile while the infusion pump did its job.

                And then my mom leaked it to me privately that Dad was in an early stage of Alzheimer’s and had wanted to keep it from us until after Sally’s wedding.  

                 When my parents booked a trip to Maui halfway through Sally’s run of chemotherapy sessions, I felt ambivalent. But Sally encouraged them to go, not to worry about her. I promised to sit in for Mom and Dad, and take time off from work which was part of my company’s benefit plan. So, off they went. Mom hadn’t told my sister about Dad’s Alzheimer’s since she felt Sally had enough to contend with in the coming weeks. Eventually, she’d share that with my sister and requested that I be quiet about it in the meantime.

                  With Dad’s Alzheimer’s and Sally’s cancer, it felt unnatural for them to leave California, and frankly, it wasn’t like them to disappear during such an intense time in our family. And so, the whole picture led me to consider that perhaps my parents were done with living and wanted Sally to inherit their fortune including their spacious home in San Francisco, so she’d be set for hopefully a longer life. I didn’t think either of them could bear to see their daughter die or go through Dad’s descent into his illness. Sally didn’t have solid medical insurance because of her self-employment, thinking she’d be healthy forever.

                   Sally and I never discussed my hypothesis about our parents’ deaths but I knew this possibility had also crossed her mind, especially after I told her about Dad’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis. My parents left almost all their savings and one of their Maui condos to Sally who moved back into our birth house within a couple of weeks after they were killed. I received $150K, and the smaller condo. I understood what had motivated their decision-making process. And, my career as an employment law attorney was flourishing. I was up for full partner in a high-profile firm in Silicon Valley. My townhouse in Palo Alto was more than two-thirds paid in full. At 37, I felt more than financially secure.  

                   When Sally and I locked eyes at the funeral there was that unspoken understanding between us. The crash may have been intentional, pre-planned. She was my twin and we often communicated without spoken words. 

In Sally’s San Francisco kitchen where my mom had prepared all of our holiday meals and baked us lavish birthday cakes over the years, I watch my sister rolling out the dough for the cookies she’ll bake, while her body is filled with cancer.

“Dizzy girl, which cookie shape do you prefer? She asks.  You listening to me, Sis? We’ve got all these choices, so…”
“Wait, I have something for you,” I blurt out. Rushing to my purse sitting on the sofa, I pull out a small flowered paper bag, and hand it to Sally.

“Chocolates for me?”

“No, something better,” I say.

She wipes her hands on a kitchen towel and opens the small bag.
“A cookie cutter. Oh!” She places it on the counter-top. “It’s a Banyan tree. Wow.”

“Just like the one in Lahaina,” I say.
“Yeah, now destroyed.”
“No, I heard it’s growing back little by little. It’s still fragile but it even has some long branches now.”

“Well, thank you. I love this.”

“Me too. I saw it in a shop in Santa Cruz last weekend, a shop full of Hawaiian products called The Banyan Tree. I had to get that cookie cutter for you. It’s a sign, Sally.”

“A sign, she says. “I think it’s a Banyan tree Dizzy girl, not a sign.” She looks down at the dough, sprinkles more flour and pushes the rolling pin back and forth.

“It’s a sign of hope for your recovery. Your wellness,” I say.  

             She looks up at me, her moist blue eyes glistening.

“You want this one, then?” She holds up my gifted blue metal cookie cutter.

“Yes Sis,” I say. “Bake me a Banyan tree.”

Linda S. Gunther is the author of six suspense novels: Ten Steps from the Hotel Inglaterra, Endangered Witness, Lost in the Wake, Finding Sandy Stonemeyer, Dream Beach and Death is a Great Disguiser. Most recently, Ms. Gunther’s memoir titled A Bronx Girl was released and is available on Amazon. Her essays and short stories have also been featured in a variety of literary publications across the globe. In April 2025, her play titled Listen While You Work was produced and performed by Inclusive Theater in Buffalo, New York. www.lindasgunther.com

‎Who AM l

‎Who is there?
‎A shadow.
‎Who is here?
‎A simple shadow.
‎Who is in my heart?
‎A complex shadow.
‎Who is in your heart?
‎A compound shadow.
‎Who is all around us?
‎Shadow, shadow and shadow!
‎Where is man?
‎He is absent in everywhere.
‎Where is woman?
‎She is absent in………. .
‎Where is humanity?
‎It was buried before civilization.
‎Where is conscience
‎It was killed before dawn.
‎Where is property?
‎It is in our breath.
‎Where is life
‎It is always past.
‎Where am l?
‎I don’t know.
‎Who am l?
‎A mummy of time.

Being Complacent

Don’t blame the government system

Every country has the same problem

Don’t blame the police force

Being omniscient is not part of their course

Don’t blame the gender

It could be a girl, a boy, or the other

Don’t blame the race

Doesn’t matter, anyone loses trace

Don’t blame the generation

It’s been around every era and nation

Don’t blame the children

It’s not their fault for being frightened

Let’s not be complacent in protection

Anyone can be a victim of abduction

Be aware where your child is

Let an adult always be there, please

Be alone or with a group of friends

It will not hinder those hated fiends

Or even in a public place in a community

One can never guarantee a long time of safety

Crime takes just a moment for you or me

Never be smug and think it will never be.

What Makes A King

What makes a king

Is it about the messages that never fade

Is it about the miracles that were made

Is it the actions that discrimination forbade

What makes a king

Is it the sufferings yet never did complain

Is it the horrors showing of souls drain

Is it about forgiving beyond death’s pain

What makes a king

Is it the conquering death by resurrection

Is it about man’s original sin’s destruction

Is it promise of whole world’s redemption

What makes a king

To believers and unbelievers hope bring

The promise that in no one church cling

Of Unity and Equality all mankind can sing

But what makes a King?

Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa was born January 14, 1965, in Manila Philippines. She has worked as a retired Language Instructor, interpreter, caregiver, secretary, product promotion employee, and private therapeutic masseur. Her works have been published as poems and short story anthologies in several language translations for e-magazines, monthly magazines, and books; poems for cause anthologies in a Zimbabwean newspaper; a feature article in a Philippine newspaper; and had her works posted on different poetry web and blog sites. She has been writing poems since childhood but started on Facebook only in 2014. For her, Poetry is life and life is poetry.

Lilian Kunimasa considers herself a student/teacher with the duty to learn, inspire, guide, and motivate others to contribute to changing what is seen as normal into a better world than when she steps into it. She has always considered life as an endless journey, searching for new goals, and challenges and how she can in small ways make a difference in every path she takes. She sees humanity as one family where each one must support the other and considers poets as a voice for Truth in pursuit of Equality and proper Stewardship of nature despite the hindrances of distorted information and traditions.

MOTHER

The love of a mother is a profound and intricate tapestry, woven with threads of unconditional care, unwavering support, and a profound understanding that transcends words. It is a force that shapes our lives from the very beginning, nurturing our growth, guiding our steps, and leaving an indelible mark on our souls. 

From the moment a mother cradles her newborn in her arms, a bond is formed that defies definition. It is a primal connection, an instinctual understanding that transcends language and reason. The first touch, the first gaze, the first whisper – these are the building blocks of a love that will endure through time and circumstance. 

A mother's love is a constant source of strength and security. It is the safe haven we return to when the world feels overwhelming, the gentle hand that guides us through life's uncertainties. It is the unwavering belief in our potential, even when we doubt ourselves. 

As we grow, a mother's love adapts and evolves. It becomes the steady hand that helps us navigate the challenges of childhood, the encouraging voice that whispers, "You can do it!" when we face our first fears. It is the shoulder we cry on when our hearts are broken, the warm embrace that soothes our pain.

A mother's love is not always easy. It requires sacrifice, patience, and a willingness to put the needs of her children before her own. It means staying up late with a sick child, wiping away tears, and offering comfort when words fail. It means celebrating our triumphs and offering solace in our failures. 

Through the years, a mother's love becomes a guiding light, illuminating our path and providing us with a sense of purpose. She is the one who teaches us right from wrong, instills in us our values, and helps us develop our sense of self. 

Her love is a constant source of inspiration, reminding us that we are capable of great things. It is the fuel that propels us to pursue our dreams, to overcome obstacles, and to strive for excellence. 

A mother's love is a gift that keeps on giving. It is a source of strength, comfort, and inspiration that we carry with us throughout our lives. It is a love that transcends time and circumstance, a love that endures even when we are miles apart. 

But a mother's love is not just about the sacrifices she makes or the lessons she teaches. It is also about the joy she finds in watching her children grow and thrive. It is about the pride she feels when her children achieve their dreams. 

It is the shared laughter, the inside jokes, the memories that are woven into the fabric of our family. It is the simple moments of connection – a cup of coffee shared on a rainy morning, a phone call to say "I love you," a hug that speaks volumes. 

A mother's love is a complex and multifaceted thing, a love that is both powerful and tender, both fierce and gentle. It is a love that defies definition, a love that can only be felt in the depths of our hearts. 

It is a love that shapes who we are, that guides us through life's journey, and that leaves an indelible mark on our souls. It is a love that transcends words, a love that is eternal.

Even when our mothers are no longer with us, their love remains a constant presence in our lives. It is the legacy they leave behind, a legacy of love, support, and guidance that inspires us to live our lives to the fullest. 

O THAT MACBETH HAD READ A POEM!

In fact, while doing some evil deed, a man does not need to think. But if he is doing some good deed, he has to stop and consider what consequences he may have to face.

****

When stones start sparkling with emotions, literature can be said to have performed its part to perfection.

-Anand

It is no exaggeration to say that evil dominates the human psyche more than any other emotion, like love or compassion. Macbeth and Dr. Faustus appear as objective correlatives of evil. But this article questions were they entirely evil? Is goodness an outer growth over evil, or is evil an outer growth over good? My thesis is that all men invariably are made of the shining stuff, and evil is a super imposition, and can be erased with sharp tools of wit, wisdom and satire.

As far as human society is concerned, goodness has already been pushed to the margins. The animals and birds also indulge in killings but this violence cannot be classified as Evil. People do show sparks of goodness, but very occasionally, while evil is on the elephant ride in the streets of this kingdom, which belongs to God, but is run by monsters. The good remain huddled in corners of existence, whereas the centre stage is grabbed by evil mongers. When evil multiplies and threatens the very fabric of the society, God sends apocalyptic beings like Lord Krishna and Jesus Christ. But it is also a fact that as soon as they disappear from the world, people come back to their original setting, of vileness, suppression and exploitation of the good. The pages of human history depict either wars or men who created havoc with the masses in the name of religion.  It appears either there were no good periods in history, or they are intentionally ignored because they do not offer thrills which a reader expects from the reading of history.

Footfall at the Gate of Hell

The  Reception at the Gate of Heaven remains closed most of the time. Once or twice during a month, the office opens to admit one or two persons at the most. In fact,  it is the Reception at the Gate of Hell where you find most festive conditions. People come in hordes singing folk songs, carrying drinks and beauties in their laps. It is another thing, the monsters welcome them, and after a thorough investigation, they are directed to the Purgatory.

The scene inspires horror when we try to guess how rampant is evil in our society. Some scientists from Lustus University lost their lives when a speeding bus tumbled into an abyss while negotiating a sharp turn high on a mountain. On reaching the Gate of Hell, they were engaged in a verbal duel with the Reception staff.

‘There is no goodness in this world. It is not possible to find one person who believes in good. Close down the  Reception Centre for Heaven,’  they argued so vehemently that  senior functionaries of Hell and Heaven had to intervene.

Course Correction

Brahma detailed Indra to bring them to the Emergency. All of them were laid on different tables, and given injections of inertia. When the operation was over, and the Professors of Lustus University were back in their senses, a video was played which showed how each man’s consciousness was turned naked, and then, with sharp-edged appliances, the dirt frozen on their consciousness was layered off. After several days of deep digging, a shining layer of light was visible.

The merchants of darkness were stunned to realize that they were essentially made up of the shining stuff. However, man becomes oblivious of this sublimity of his being when layers of dust fall and freeze on the shiny surface.  What really transforms the evil souls is the power of goodness, exampled by its practitioners [like the Bishop in Victor Hugo’s novel Les Miserables] Man not only learns but he even unlearns by example.

The Flop Triumvirate

With evil so rampant, if we are getting oblivious of the dividing line between good and evil, it is because our elders have not learnt their ropes well. The teachers, the parents, the religious leaders – are responsible if the moral fabric of the society has deteriorated. The reality is that Evil comes to man far more naturally than good. In fact, while doing some evil deed, a man does not need to think. But if he is doing some good deed, he has to stop and consider what consequences he may have to face. It is the fear of consequences of being good, straight, honest and kind that most of the people have said good bye to this domain.

The emotional demography of good and evil can be understood with the help of the following graph. Thirty percent people can go to any extent in the domain of evil. Five percent people practice goodness and cannot be deflected from their path. However, the remaining sixty five percent keep shifting from good to evil and evil to good depending on their necessities.

Re-forming the Social Fabric

If we want to re-form and re-organize our society, we have to contend with the truth  that religion and fears of hell do not horrorize any Faustus now. Millions of people will be ready to sign in blood a contract with the Devil which ensures them twenty four years of thrills. The horror of Faustus’ destiny is no longer a deterrent for evil-mongering which has now become a  romantic fantasy.

Art and Literature

Society lacks the tools with which it should be able to touch the souls of the people. The best way is Art and Literature.  A poem is truly magnificent if it can tear off the layers of unreality, faithlessness, despair and doubt, from the consciousness of a person who has no direct or indirect connect with art or literature. When stones start sparkling with emotions, literature can be said to have performed its part to perfection.

Dr. Jernail Singh Anand, [the Seneca, Charter of Morava, Franz Kafka and Maxim Gorky awards Laureate, with an opus of 180 books, whose name adorns the Poets’ Rock in Serbia]]  is a towering literary figure whose work embodies a rare fusion of creativity, intellect, and moral vision.

                                                                                                              Digital Technologies and Education: A New Path to Success

Today, digital technologies play an important role in every aspect of our lives, including education. Digital tools—particularly the internet, mobile applications, and online platforms—help make the educational process more convenient, efficient, and engaging. In this article, we will explore the significance, advantages, and future prospects of digital technologies in education.

The Role of Digital Technologies in Education

Digital technologies simplify the educational process. Online lessons, interactive learning materials, and digital learning platforms allow students to access education anytime and anywhere. These opportunities are especially beneficial for students in rural areas and individuals who do not have access to traditional educational institutions.

For instance, platforms like MOOCs (Massive Open Online Courses) allow thousands of students to take a class at the same time. All of this contributes to the global development of education.

Changes in Thinking Processes and Teaching Methods

Digital technologies also transform teaching methods through innovation. Teachers can now use graphics, videos, and simulations to visualize complex concepts. This helps students develop higher-order thinking skills.

Interactive lessons and educational games can increase student engagement and make lessons more interesting. Models like the “flipped classroom” enable students to study the material beforehand and participate in discussions and hands-on activities during class time.

Emerging Challenges and Anticipated Solutions

However, digital technologies can also bring about certain challenges in education. In areas with limited internet access, both teachers and students may face difficulties. Furthermore, overreliance on technology might cause students to abandon traditional learning habits.

To address these issues, cooperation between the government and the community is essential in the field of education. Expanding access to technology and the internet, along with providing support for teachers to learn digital teaching methodologies, is crucial.

Conclusion

Digital technologies play a vital role in making education more effective, accessible, and engaging. This topic highlights the importance of learning from past experiences and considering how to use digital resources efficiently in the future. Proper and purposeful application of digital technologies in education will significantly contribute to the development of younger generations and the future of society.

Husanboyeva Nargiza Jasurbekovna was born on December 22, 2010, in the Hamid Olimjon neighborhood of Urganch district, Khorezm region. She is currently an 8th-grade student at School No. 18 in the Urganch district. Nargiza is an active participant in numerous competitions. In 2023, she advanced from the district stage to the city stage of the “Young Reader” competition. She has also earned 1st, 2nd, and 3rd places in Chess Olympiads.

She is the author of three articles, one of which will soon be published in the Synchronized Chaos journal. Nargiza is a regional resident of Startup Garage, a volunteer in the Ibrat Debate team, and a participant in the Al-Khwarizmi’s Heirs project. She is also a Young Startuper at the IT Park Khorezm branch.

In addition, she is involved in the Coursera Scholars and Technovation Girls-2025 projects and is currently studying at Founders School. Notably, she achieved an honorable 4th place in the RTRM Idathon project. Nargiza is also the founder of five startups.

WHISPERS OF NIGHT 

When the moon rise forward into my room eyes change into rose colored 

When the stars play in the sky with color power that I wish to join 

There’s not anything in the sky, I gonna sky to sleep and spin a dream 

when the night came washed  to my body in the river like a fish.

I felt strength in the night like corocode in the sea.

When the night come my dream took me up saw a couple of wonderful hope.

Ummnusalma Nasir Mukhtar is a young poet, born, raised and studying in Gombe State , Nigeria. She lives with her family, her father Nasir Mukhtar and her lovely mother Rahama Muhammad and her beloved sisters Hauwa’u (jidda) and Zainab (Intisar). She is passionate about using words to inspire and connect people. Ummusalma writes poems that reflect everyday life, emotions, and the beauty of unity. As a student, she continues to grow her craft while balancing her studies and creative pursuits.